


Just Like Snow White

by CrazyJanaCat



Series: Harrymort One-shots [9]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Bondage, Immortality, M/M, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Somnophilia, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 17:00:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7370194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrazyJanaCat/pseuds/CrazyJanaCat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hair as black as coal, skin as white as snow and lips as red as blood. He was the perfect trophy as he lay there, unmoving, asleep for all of eternity</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Like Snow White

Hair as black as coal, skin as white as snow and lips as red as blood. He was the perfect trophy as he lay there, unmoving, asleep for all of eternity. Voldemort leaned down to softly kiss those warm, unmoving lips, enjoying the heath of his prize’s breath on his own.

He still remembered the day he finally possessed the boy for the first time. Beaten and battered on the dirty ground of the battlefield where all his friends had died in vain. He was the very last survivor of those fighting against him, too wounded and exhausted to move or struggle anymore. Barely any strength left to cry out as penetrated him dryly, mixing the boy’s blood with all that had already been spilled by so many people.

He’d done it again the next day, on the bed where he’d chained the boy to, and then again the day after that and again and again and again until Voldemort grew bored of the useless struggle and the spat curses. Harry Potter possessed a stubbornness he hadn’t yet found a match of, even in his 71 years of life.

So, after a particular tiring struggle, he decided he had enough and put a strong sleeping spell on his prize. Harry had sagged down in the arms of two of his Death Eaters after they had carried him back beaten and broken after a seventh escape attempt that month.

Him being asleep didn’t stop the Dark Lord from taking what he wanted from the boy. Most would have thought the unresponsiveness off-putting, but the sense of power it gave him when dominating the sleeping teen was truly gratifying. The soft, pained whimpers and the bright blush on his cheeks and chest as he drove into the unmoving, pliant body was so great he didn’t wake the boy up for 25 years.

When he eventually did wake the boy, his body preserved and unaging for all this time, Harry had screamed and yelled and fought harder than he had done in several months before being put to sleep. He’d even succeeded in knocking Voldemort down and escaping his stronghold. It took a search party three days to find the escapee, and he had already found some rebels, some surviving friends of his and their children. Voldemort had them all killed and the boy brought back to his room where he was quickly chained to the bed.

Voldemort raped Harry while casting his Cruciatus on the shivering, twitching body. By morning, he had Harry back in an enchanted sleep, but he left the sleeping body on his bed, accessible to him whenever he felt like it. This time, he left Harry asleep for over 50 years out of spite.

When he woke Harry up again, it was when he was in an especially nostalgic mood. The entire Wizarding world lay at his feet, and it was only now that he realized how desperately he needed someone to challenge him.

He chained Harry to a chair before waking him this time, which turned out to be a good idea.

“Let me go you bloody monster!” he screamed, struggling hard and pulling at his bonds.

Voldemort just laughed and pushing into the struggling body, groaning in bliss as Harry’s arse clamped down on him. When the teen was asleep, there was little to no reaction at all, and while Voldemort enjoyed the unresponsiveness, he loved the fight even more.

Harry screamed the entire time Voldemort raped him. His chains clanged with every movement, but he didn’t try to fight Voldemort. It was a good call, but Voldemort already knew it wasn’t over yet. Harry was just learning to pick his fights. He would try again soon, when Voldemort wasn’t paying attention.

He kept Harry by his side for a week, keeping him chained to the chair next to his own throne. Harry stayed bound and naked the entire time, even as people came to Voldemort with their questions and praises. The boy kept his head proudly raised through it, only faltering once when Caligula Malfoy came by. As was expected. The man was almost a mirror image to his grandfather, Draco.

During the nights, he had Harry transferred to his own chambers and chained to his bed. He assured that the boy was only moved after being stupefied, knowing that Harry would take any opportunity to escape.

The curses and threats that were slung to his head the entire time he raped Harry was exhilarating. It was so different from usual, so exciting and amusing that he was almost tempted to keep him awake for longer. However, the longer he kept Harry away, the more he was plagued with worries the boy would escape again, so after that one week, he put him back to sleep. Better safe than sorry, after all.

He only let him sleep for 10 years this time, missing Harry’s fiery personality too much to let him sleep much longer. No chains this time. He had a cage made especially for Harry and placed in his bedroom. He wasn’t planning on sex with him during his waking hours this time. He could satisfy those needs whenever and with whoever he wanted. No. He needed someone to talk with.

Even though Harry didn’t do anything but curse at him, Voldemort still loved it and goaded Harry into opposing him more. However, this only too two days before Harry realized Voldemort’s plan and instead started to refuse to interact at all. He kept silent no matter how much Voldemort taunted him or raged at him until eventually, the Dark Lord gave up and instead had a young female slave brought to his rooms. He raped the girl in front of Harry’s cage, enjoying the begging of the male teen for him to stop.

“I’ll do anything! I’ll talk, I’ll let you fuck me, just stop!” he had pleaded desperately.

Voldemort gleefully accepted and allowed Harry out of the cage. That night, for the first time, he took Harry gently, making love to the teen instead of forcing himself on him. The entire time, tears were streaming down Harry’s face. Voldemort almost snorted when he realized the gentleness broke Harry more than any violence could have done.

“I’ll escape again,” Harry warned Voldemort that night as they lay in bed together after several hours of intense sex.

“And where would you go?” Voldemort taunted.  
“All your friends are dead. 85 years have passed since our battle, Harry.”

Harry’s eyes had closed, his face contorted in pain at those words. Satisfied, Voldemort had fallen asleep.

Voldemort woke in a cold, empty bed. Realizing Harry had escaped again, he had flown into a rage before sending his servants to hunt him down. For two weeks, they searched, desperate to find the boy, but Harry stayed gone. In his fury, Voldemort went out, killing muggles and wizards alike with sadistic cruelty until eventually, Harry showed himself, pleading Voldemort to stop.

Harry was quickly put back to sleep, and Voldemort had his body now displayed on a throne for itself next to his own. His legs spread wide and chained to the legs of the throne and almost always sitting in a small puddle of his come as he fucked Harry in the chair several times a day.

Once he believed Harry to be punished enough, he took him back to his rooms and splayed him out on his bed like so many times before. He’d fuck Harry’s unresponsive body every night, and sometimes even fucked his slaves or servants on top of the boy. On one or two occasions, he even went so far to order his servants to fuck Harry, but he always became jealous halfway through and killed them.

Too angry and worried that Harry would escape again, he kept him asleep for a total of 70 years before even attempting to wake him again. This time, Harry was much calmer. He didn’t fight the chains anymore and talked with Voldemort more civilized. It confused Voldemort at first, but then he realized what it was: Harry was tired. Being kept asleep for so long had slowly drained him from his energy. He wasn’t disappointed by Harry’s seeming defeat, like he had expected to be. Instead, he was happy. Harry was an intelligent conversationalist, and other than Voldemort’s servants, Harry wasn’t afraid of him.

He still took Harry with him to sit on the second throne every day, but this time allowed Harry to keep his modesty by giving him a white loincloth to wear along with golden armbands and ankle bands and a golden choker. When seeing Harry’s confused expression at the strange clothing, he had laughed and explained that for his people, Harry had become a God, and as such, he should look like one.

He didn’t think Harry believed him until Hyperion Malfoy, Caligula’s great-grandson visited with his fiancée Lucia Zabini to ask for his blessing on their marriage. Voldemort took great pleasure in seeing Harry’s discomfort with all the presents they left him and their humble, almost fearful praises to their Divine Lord.

“Many people believe that a young god chose me to become their leader,” Voldemort explained Harry that night as he settled between Harry’s legs.  
“They believe that the god was in love with me and offered me power and immortality in exchange for my love towards him. They believe you are that god.”

“A God is free to move,” Harry replied softly.  
“He definitely isn’t forced in an enchanted sleep.”

“The myth goes that by offering me this power, you were cursed by the other gods to sleep for eternity,” Voldemort replied.  
“Sometimes, our love for each other wakes you again. To my people, it means a prosperous time, because their god can protect them again.”

Harry didn’t answer, he only moaned as Voldemort slowly pushed into his entrance. There was no violence left between them, only gentle lovemaking and softly whispered conversations. Harry seemed to be acceptant of his fate, or he was simply too tired to keep fighting. It didn’t matter to Voldemort. He was happy like this.

Harry was kept awake for over two weeks this time, and Voldemort would have let him like this for longer, maybe even forever, but Harry begged him not to, with tears in his dull, sunken eyes.

“I can’t rest unless like that,” Harry had explained.  
“I’m exhausted, Tom. Please, let me sleep again.”

He hadn’t been happy, but he could see Harry was in desperate need for sleep, so he complied. However, he still brought Harry’s sleeping body with him, setting him on the throne next to his every day and every night, he slept with Harry in his arms.

Over the passing years, the stories about Lord Voldemort and his godly lover became more and more pronounced. Slowly but surely, a church was built in Harry’s honour, now known under the name of Peverell, god of Death and Magic. Myths of how Peverell would have given witches and wizards their magic, and how he had blessed their Lord when he was just a small babe with his great power and wisdom. High priests would tell the masses about how their god fell in love with his own perfect creation and made him the king of their kind, allowing him to live forever.

Over the centuries that followed, Voldemort often woke Harry again, and in those times, the people would hold a great festival in Harry’s honour. However, every time he woke Harry, the boy was able to stay awake for a few days before needing more and more time for recovery. After 200 years, he had to sleep 50 years for just three days awake.

During those short moments, Voldemort held Harry close. They made love the whole first day, on the second day, they would allow the wizarding public to come and pray for Harry’s blessing, which Harry would give them all dutifully. The third day would be spend in bed again, passionate sex that always ended with Voldemort softly whispering the incantation of the Sleeping Charm.

By now, it had once again been 50 years. Voldemort had waited long eagerly for this day, and at last, he could once again hold his lover close to him. He kissed Harry again, whispering the waking spell against those tantalizing soft red lips. A shudder went through the naked body beneath him and Voldemort pulled back, watching enchanted as those bright, killing curse green eyes blinked open and looked at him with so much love and devotion it took his breath away.

“Hello, Tom.”

 


End file.
